


sorry about the blood in your mouth. i wish it was mine.

by Suchagayhumanbeing



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Batman - Freeform, DC universe - Freeform, Dc Villains - Freeform, Gay, Gotham, M/M, breaking news:these two idiots try to kill each other and realize they’re in love, dc, ed and oswald are gay Fools, gay pining, mlm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-23
Updated: 2020-08-23
Packaged: 2021-03-06 19:35:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,967
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26064337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Suchagayhumanbeing/pseuds/Suchagayhumanbeing
Summary: ed nygma and oswald cobblepot have tried to kill each other in more ways than they can count. revenge has blurred the lines between  obsession and love. how many times must they live out their kill fantasies before they realize what it’s been hiding?
Relationships: Oswald Cobblepot/Edward Nygma
Comments: 8
Kudos: 45





	sorry about the blood in your mouth. i wish it was mine.

**Author's Note:**

> ed and oswald are just two gay morons who are just like “hey i know i just stabbed you but do you have feelings for me?”

“You’ve lost, Oswald,” Ed’s voice rang out at the edge of the pier, tone proud and joyful as he stood across from Penguin. His green suit stood out against the boring brown and blue of the pier and water, it was the opposite of Oswald’s black and dark purple suit. It didn’t crease even as Ed held a gun pointed at Penguin’s chest, sleek black reflecting the tiny sliver of sun peeking from the gray clouds. Ed had a smile on his face, triumphant in his actions and giddiness flung from his words.

“Again, might I add.”

Penguin said nothing, but simply watched Ed with a bored expression, as if he were a too-familiar movie. He wore an extravagant purple suit with a light, black-patterned petticoat that ruffled in the strong city wind. His tie jutted out under a small collar, to match the dark purple of his vest and shoes. Extra, as usual. 

This was common for both of them. Ever since Oswald murdered Isabella, Ed’s lover, this pier practically became a haunted second home for them, visiting it against their will each time they decided to betray each other again. It was either Oswald, with his fancy dark suits and new hairstyle, holding the gun, or it was Ed, the same green suit and bowler hat. They had both lost count of how many times they had pointed a gun at the other. 

It was all the same, every time. They both usually brought backup, fleeing from the pier, or one of them talked their way out of it (Ed was quite extraordinary at the last one). 

But Oswald’s expression, this was different. Usually, it was one of desperation, fear, anger. But his face was blank, bored in a way, watching Ed with a tinge of amusement in his eyes.

Ed had a small twinge, telling him that something wasn’t right. Oswald always wore his feelings like a sparkly dress, Ed could always see it, that’s why he always defeated Penguin. Sadness, desperation, happiness, jealousy, Ed could see and read it all, every time they betrayed each other. But this, this was new, this was different, and Ed felt, though the gun was in his hand, that his advantage was slowly chipping away. 

“Hmm,” Oswald hummed. “Yes, it appears I have, Ed. Well done.”

Ed furrowed his eyebrows. Oswald had never wished him such a compliment since Ed had destroyed his life, especially not with such genuity.  
He narrowed his eyes, and readjusted his grip on the gun he held, sweat dampening his hand. 

“I’m going to kill you Oswald.” He bragged, with suspicion peppering his tone. 

“I’m sure you are.” Penguin answered, boredom evident in his body language and voice. 

Ed frowned and hesitated, his arm faltering. 

Usually, such meaningless feeling, or lack of it, would mean nothing to him, usually it would mean nothing to the matter of life and death. 

But, this was Oswald Cobblepot he was talking about. 

The man who couldn’t suppress emotions if he tried, the man who spat and laughed and cried and screamed if the urge overcame him, which it often did. And there was a small possibility that the boring expression could be something to throw Ed off, but he doubted it. Oswald never had an award for acting, especially in front of Ed. 

Well, except for that one time. 

But, regardless, he listened to his suspicion, as it was the only thing keeping him alive. 

“For Isabella.” He continued, cocking the gun, the sound echoing between the two of them. “You took her from me. And now you’ll pay, Oswald.”

“Hm.” Penguin hummed. “I suppose I will.” 

Ed furrowed his eyebrows again at that. Oswald knew he wasn’t bluffing, Ed had shot him before, but Oswald didn’t seem concerned about the fact that a gun was aimed at him and perfectly capable of ending his life. This wasn’t like him. 

He was calm, too calm. 

It tugged at Ed. 

Logically, he knew he should shoot Oswald and be done with it. He could finally enact his revenge, he could finally be rid of Oswald, the knife twisting in his own back. 

But, something was off. 

And this proposed a question; a dangerous question. 

Why was Penguin so calm, why was he not screaming betrayal and bloody murder? 

Ed couldn’t shoot him. 

Not as long as Oswald only knew the answer, not while there was a question unanswered. 

His unwillingness to go without an answer was going to be the death of him, and he knew this, but he still lowered the gun regardless. 

Oswald looked at him curiously. 

“I’m not stupid, Oswald.” Ed said, fiddling with the gun by his side. “I know you’re planning something.”

“Am I?” Oswald asked innocently. 

“Don’t play dumb with me.” Ed hissed, venom sneaking into his words. He wanted desperately to point the gun at Oswald and pull the trigger, but he needed answers, he needed him alive. 

Maybe you’re just making excuses, his thoughts offered. Maybe you want him alive.

He shook his head, pushing away the questions. Of course he didn’t want him alive, he just needed answers. After that, he would kill Penguin. He just wanted, needed, answers. 

Right? 

“I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about, my dear Ed.”

Ed’s took in a sharp breath at the small pet name. Nobody had ever called him ‘dear’ since, well, ever. It felt...weird. Not quite bad, per se, but it was an unknown feeling. 

He pushed it down as quickly as possible. 

“Of course you do. All this,” He gestured to Oswald with his gun, which emitted no reaction from him. “This act of calmness when you’re staring into the barrel of my gun, the act of not being afraid of me killing you, what’s it all for?”

Penguin laughed humorlessly. “It’s not an act.” 

Ed stared. “What?”

“I said, Edward, that it’s not an act.”

Ed shook his head. “That’s ridiculous. Of course you would be afraid, it’s all you are, you’re a coward!”

“Perhaps.” Oswald shrugged. “But I’m not afraid of you anymore.”

“But you should be!” Ed’s voice raised, and hysteria crawled into his words. 

“Should I? Of who?”

“Of The Riddler!” 

Penguin laughed again, with no real amusement behind it. “Right. The Riddler. The ridiculous supervillain who kills mercilessly? Is that who I should be afraid of?”

“Yes!” Ed shouted. 

“If I should be so afraid of him, why hasn’t he shot me yet?”

Ed realized he had the gun still lowered by his side, and his arm shot up, aiming at Oswald’s chest, cocking the gun. 

Is the question answered? Said a tiny voice in his head. Why is he not afraid of you? 

Ed tried to ignore it again, but the question remained, getting louder, and louder, and so loud his ears buzzed with an unanswered question. He tried to tighten his finger on the trigger, but the question, it pulled his finger back, it berated him, it filled him, it begged for an answer and-

“Fine!” He yelled, dramatically lowering the gun. “I’ll ask it!”

Oswald tried and failed to hide a smile at Ed’s outburst.  
“Why are you not afraid of me?” Ed growled, anger busting from his words as he fidgeted with the gun, his finger lifting on and off the trigger. 

“Haven’t we been here before?” Oswald mused. “Whether it was you or I to hold the gun, we’ve been in this exact situation before. And yet here we both stand, very much alive. I am not afraid of you because I know you will not kill me.”

“I can kill you, Oswald. I have the power to.” He insisted. 

“Do you?” Penguin questioned. “Do you really, Ed? Because your finger isn’t exactly trigger-happy!”  
“Do not call me that! My name is the Riddler!” He shouted, almost raising the gun again. 

“I don’t care! Your name means nothing if you do not have the actions to match it!” 

“Fine!” Ed picked up the gun, aimed and cocked it, and growled “This is for Isabella!”

He felt no guilt as he tightened his finger on the gun. His question had been answered. 

Ed fired. 

The gunshot scared stray seagulls into the sky nearby, and newspapers scattered in the sudden wind. 

He waited. For Oswald to look down in surprise, at the new wound bleeding into the dark purple of his suit. He waited for Oswald to look back at him in shock, for him to slowly bring a hand to the injury, pressing down with the little strength he had. He waited for Oswald to stagger, his legs unable to keep him up, and for him to step backwards, blood dripping onto the dull gray of the ground. He waited for Penguin to take a couple steps back, and to fall into the rushing water, a noise of surprise dragged from him. He waited for Oswald to sink into the water, and for him to float away, for his last thought to be of his great failure. 

But nothing happened. 

Oswald didn’t move, didn’t fall, didn’t drop to his knees. No blood flowed from a bullet wound, no hole made its way into his chest. 

He stood still, only a hand pressed to his ear. 

The bullet missed. 

All was silent for a moment. 

“H-how?” Ed stuttered out. “How did I miss?” 

“Oh, Ed. How can you be so smart, and yet so naive? Did you really think I wouldn’t build safeguards?” 

Safeguards? Ed looked to the gun, and weighed it in his hand. There were definitely bullets, the gun was functioning just fine. He looked up in confusion. 

Oswald was tight-lipped, looking back at him with his eyes dipped in fake sympathy. Ed had an urge to choke the sympathy from him until his eyes smoothed over gray. 

“Before there was The Riddler,” Oswald started, his words drawn out and smooth. “There was Ed Nygma. Little Ed who was pushed around meaninglessly, who tripped over his feet to see a woman he fell in love with.” 

“Stop.” Ed demanded, his past memories coming back vividly, too vivid, so much so he felt like he was being berated by police officers again and again. 

Oswald continued. “Ed Nygma who knew nothing, Little Ed Nygma who wasn’t respected. Ed Nygma, the invisible scientist who I met all those years ago.” 

“Oswald,” Ed warned, but he paid him no mind.  
“You were nothing, Nygma. I made The Riddler, and I had Little Ed Nygma wrapped around my finger. Do you really think that you could kill me? Ed Nygma won’t let you, and that tiny part of The Riddler that likes the chase of this, it won’t let you kill me either.” 

“You’re wrong!” Ed shouted, and fired the gun again, but this time his arm jerked to the right, unwillingly, missed Oswald’s head by several inches. 

Penguin flinched, taking a few steps back, and held his ear in pain again. But he smiled nonetheless, and God, Ed wanted to wipe that stupid smile off his face. 

“Am I?” Oswald questioned, grin playing on his curved lips. “I think you just proved my point, Ed.”

“No, no!” Ed yelled, louder than he meant to. “I-I can kill you!” 

“No, Ed, you can’t. Stop living in denial!” 

“I’m not! I’m going to kill you, I- I have to-”

“Why do we keep doing this, Ed?” Oswald asked. “Why do we keep running in circles like this?”

“B-Because,” Ed stuttered out, overcome with anger and frustration.”You killed Isabelle!” 

“Ah!” Oswald caught him, raising a disapproving finger. “Isabell-a! You’re slipping, my dear Ed!” 

Ed gasped as he realized his mistake. Isabell-a! Of course, he knew it, he’d corrected Oswald and his enemies a hundred times, he couldn’t have slipped, he couldn’t have forgotten it! Isabell-a! 

And yet he did. 

How long will it take until you forget her? His thoughts snickered, and Ed tried, unsuccessfully, to push it out of his mind. How long until she and Ms. Kringle blend together? How long until her name means nothing? How long until that brain of yours decides it no longer needs the memories of her?

“Stop!” Ed sharply cut the thoughts out, mumbling under his breath. 

“Aren’t you tired of this pier?”

Oswald had stepped closer. Not by very far, but a few feet had been closed between the two of them, and though Ed should’ve stepped back by instinct, he didn’t. He noticed, yes, but he found it unnecessary to step back. After all, Oswald would still die, no matter their distance. 

Right? 

“Yes.” Ed answered, truthful. He was tired of that pier. He’d memorized it, unwillingly, and it was familiar, from the scent of the city and the water, to the fluttering of old papers. He wished to never see it again. 

Oswald stepped closer. Ed’s arm that held the gun drooped lower. 

“Aren’t you tired of this?” Oswald breathed, his voice barely audible above the noise of seagulls and rushing water. 

Ed was. God, he was. The Riddler wasn’t, but Ed was, and he could feel the weariness it caused. Every time they visited this pier, he felt the pure exhaustion that coursed through him.  
Oswald seemed to feel his answer without Ed nodding. “Why do we do this? We’re both so tired; why don’t we just stop?”

“B-because,” Ed protested, though his heart wasn’t in it. “You killed the one person that taught me how to love again, the person that taught me I wasn’t just a murderer.”

“Oh, Ed,” Oswald whispered, and somehow Ed could hear the sympathy in his voice. “Give Isabella the credit she deserves, but that wasn’t her.” 

“What?” Ed took a step back. “Of course it was.”  
“No, dear, it wasn’t.” Oswald’s use of a pet name should’ve sent him into a frown, but he found his lips drawing into a slight smile. 

Stop that, he told them. 

“She may have taught you to love a familiar face again, and the fear, she showed you the pathway into escaping it. I’ll give her that much.” 

“Then, who do I owe it to? I suppose you’ll say I owe it to you?”

“No. You owe it to yourself.” 

“What?” Ed asked in shock. 

“You owe it to yourself. After Ms. Kringle’s untimely death, the voice inside your head convinced you that you could never love again. And you believed it. But, when we crossed paths at the police station, I saw something in you, something that needed just the tiniest spark to become a roaring fire. And I became that spark. I made The Riddler, the supposed man who doesn’t love, but I’ve seen it different.” 

“The Riddler doesn’t love, Oswald. It’s weakness.” Ed straightened, confidence sneaking into his words once again. 

“So you’ve said. But I’ve seen that roaring passion, that unrelenting fire you hide. You taught yourself to love again. And when you love, Ed Nygma, you really love. You are overcome by passion, by emotions, and you are driven by love and intelligence, and that makes you the most terrifying man on Earth. The Riddler may not love, but Ed Nygma, the man who loves so dangerously, cannot deny it.” 

Ed took a sharp breath as he recognized those words from that fateful day at the mansion, of Oswald’s admittance and Ed’s rejection. 

“What are you trying to get at, Oswald?” He asked, trying to mask the emotions slipping through his cracking mask. 

“I’m trying to tell you that this,” He gestured to Ed’s gun and the pier. “This is all pointless. We’ve stabbed each other in the back, we’ve destroyed each other’s lives, we’ve died and been reborn in each other’s arms, and yet, here we stand, alive, exactly where we started. I’m so tired, Ed, and I know you are too, and I cannot live in denial and watch you do the same. So this ends.” 

Oswald, who was a few feet in front of him, closed the space between them. They stood inches apart.  
“This ends now.” Oswald breathed, and they stared into each other’s eyes, brown on brown, green and purple of their clothes touching. 

“Oswald,” Ed whispered, unable to move. “I- I don’t-”

Oswald held a finger up, centimeters from Ed’s lips. “We’re ending this. Kill me, or we walk off this pier together, no more lies, no more denial, no more deceit.”

“I don’t understand.” 

Oswald chuckled softly. “Yes, you do, Edward. You always do.” 

Yes, he did. 

“I’ve already made my confession,” Oswald murmured. “I’ve already sung my truth.” 

Did he love him? 

Oswald Cobblepot loved Edward Nygma, the whole world knew this, and Ed stood pondering, did he loved Oswald? 

Was he in love with his smile? The way it curved and sneered and spat orders, light pink lips shaping his name? Was he in love with Oswald’s eyes? How they looked at him, shining and hopeful, and how they watered with the tears of betrayal, how they glittered in the occasional sliver of sun? Was he in love with Oswald’s fashion? The extravagance, the gloominess, the absolute unnecessary layers and accessories? 

Was he in love with Oswald Cobblepot? 

He told his answer in a riddle, as he always did.

Even before he knew it, The Riddler knew. 

“I can’t be bought, but I can be stolen with a glance.” Ed breathed out, his eyes never leaving Oswalds’. His eyes widened at the familiarity of this riddle. The first moment Ed looked at him with shining, joy-ridden eyes. “I’m worthless to one, but priceless to two. What am I?”

There wasn’t a verbal answer. 

But, as Ed leaned down and Oswald tilted his chin up, the riddle was answered. As Oswald’s lips finally, finally met Ed’s, they both knew the answer. 

Love.


End file.
